


actually i'm a catastrophe

by slightlied



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Don’t tell JJ that this fic isn’t about him, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Phichit being compared to the sun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-08 03:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlied/pseuds/slightlied
Summary: Seunggil thought he knew himself best, but it turns out Phichit Chulanont might know him a little bit better.In which Phichit helps Seunggil run for student body president, and some promises are made, and some promises are, well, prom.





	actually i'm a catastrophe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ebenroot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebenroot/gifts).



> So so so sorry for the delay and thank you mods for being flexible!!! I'm such a butt. Sorry. Dogeza. 
> 
> I know this isn't *exactly* what you prompted but I still hope you enjoy it Shar, ilysm 
> 
> Their school is lightly based off of Hong Kong International School, and by that I mean I swiped their academic calendar, but otherwise I’ve mostly made everything up about KIS and purposely left the setting ambiguous! (Ebenroot-style, wink wink nudge nudge.) 
> 
> Title is from 'Fast' by Jaden Smith, which is related to this fic, if you tilt your head to the side and squint a little.
> 
> *This fic was written for the [shifty skater fic exchange](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/shiftyskater) and was originally posted on anon, and revealed on 8 oct 2017

 

✎

 

Running for student body president is Isabella’s idea. 

“So your mom is hounding you about college,” JJ says. He folds one arm behind his head while he walks, as if he were strolling along the Old Port of Montréal and taking in the riverside breeze, and not trekking across their converted manor estate of a campus in sweltering heat. There’s still a good month or two before spring is over, but Seunggil figures that, just like the rest of the students at Kamome International School, the sun is itching for summer to start. 

(And also, you know, global warming.) 

Incidentally, they pass by a sign for the next Eco Drive, recyclable paper hanging flimsy against one of the statues that line their school courtyard. Seunggil takes note of the date so that he can add the event to his activities planner later. He’s so close to finishing the required hours of community service before junior year ends. 

“Big whoop,” JJ says. “Welcome to being a teenager in the twenty-first century. My mom’s on my back, too.” 

“Except you’re not the first-born child,” Isabella says. 

“And your mom’s not Asian,” Yuuri adds. 

“And your mom isn’t obsessed with comparing you to your cousin Seokjin who got a scholarship to Yale,” Seunggil says. “And was valedictorian at his school and captain of the water polo team and taught the violin to deaf children in his free time. And got a special letter of acknowledgment from the President for exhibiting academic excellence and student leadership.” 

They stop walking momentarily to stare at him. 

“Okay, damn,” JJ says. 

“That’s the most words I’ve ever heard you say.” Yuuri sounds like he’s in awe. His hold on his tennis racket slackens and he looks at Seunggil with round eyes and appraising eyebrows, the same way he does when an opponent hits a serve that he wasn’t expecting to be able to return. 

Isabella pats Seunggil’s shoulder with the hand that isn’t holding JJ’s. They started holding hands last month, but they haven’t said anything, so Seunggil’s not going to say anything, and he’s going to keep raising one eyebrow at them and silently taking note of it _instead of saying anything._

“You’ve nearly got valedictorian on lock, though,” she points out. “And you’re co-captains of boys tennis with Yuuri. Plus, you do all those hours at the library and the animal shelter.” 

“Student _leadership,_ babe,” JJ emphasizes. Seunggil resists lifting another eyebrow at babe. That’s a new one. “Right now Seunggil is just—student.” He briefly lets go of her to flash both hands in front of him as if to imitate blinking stage lights at the word ‘student.’ 

This close to the student parking lot, the number of posters and flyers covering the campus increases tenfold. Isabella reaches out to tap one. 

“How about running for student office?” she suggests. 

JJ’s voice echoes across the courtyard. “Ha! Hahahahaha!”

“What’s so funny?” Phichit emerges from a walkway on the left, sweaty and panting with a towel slung around his neck, over his backpack. Cheer practice always runs a little long. He bumps a shoulder against Yuuri’s when he catches up with them, and grins at the group. 

His smile, Seunggil thinks in the haze of heat, could rival the sun in terms of brightness. Ever since he got his braces off over winter break he’s been smiling a lot, eager to show off his straight teeth. No one and nothing is safe, and that includes the school Instagram feed—Phichit likes taking advantage of being part of the school’s media club. 

“I was telling Seunggil he should run for student body president,” Isabella tells him. 

Phichit nods and continues to smile. “What’s so funny about that?” 

“What _isn’t_ funny about that?” JJ says derisively. 

Seunggil bites his tongue. 

“Could you imagine Seunggil doing morning announcements like Bin? Greeting people ‘good morning’ in the hallways like Bin?” JJ goes on, sounding like a Disney character with an ego complex. “Delegating assignments and telling people what to do like Bin?” He pauses. “Actually, _that_ one I can imagine.” 

Isabella pinches JJ’s side. “Seunggil could run if he wants. And win.” 

Before JJ can open his mouth again, Seunggil says a preemptive, “Shut up.” The sun is baking his neck and his parking slot is _so far_ from the main walkway. “Save the drama for the stage.” 

Phichit purses his lips. “You don’t think you could win?” 

Seunggil rolls his eyes. “Come on.” 

“I would vote for you,” Yuuri says softly. 

“Congrats! That’s a guaranteed two votes then.” JJ winks. “If Yuuri votes, then Victor Nikiforov—“

“JJ.” Seunggil is tired, and between Yuuri’s frown and Phichit’s thick eyebrows doing that thing where they quirk at you and compel you to be just as perturbed as he is, Seunggil can physically feel the energy draining from his body. He just wants to get into the cool AC of his car. “Shut up.” 

“You should run,” Phichit asserts. “You could win. With our help, you would win.” 

“Even with the help of the Dalai Lama and the Pope, I wouldn’t win,” Seunggil says, lifting his car keys out of the pocket of his gym shorts. Salvation at last. He sprints the last few meters to his Toyota Corolla and unlocks the trunk to load his backpack, training bag, and tennis racket. 

“Nice self burn!” JJ holds up a palm. “That’s what I was going to say.” 

“You don’t even know who the Dalai Lama is,” Seunggil tells him. He ignores his high-five and instead pulls JJ’s backpack off his shoulder to load into the trunk. 

“You’ll win,” Phichit presses. Yuuri unlocks the car in the next slot over and starts piling his and Phichit’s stuff into the backseat. “I’ll help you.” 

Seunggil sighs, but before he can reply Isabella is shoving him out of the way to dump her own bag into his car. “Oh come on, just do it. It’ll get your mom off your back,” she says. “You get to be a class rep just for running, anyway, so there’ll still be something to put in your apps.” 

Seunggil sighs again and turns to Phichit, who’s only half-smiling now, crooked mouth reminiscent of the smile he had pre-metalwork. “I don’t want to take up your time and feel obliged to you.” 

Phichit waves a hand. “So you’ll owe me.” 

“I don’t even have, like, real friends.” 

“Bro.” JJ’s voice is muffled from where he’s already seated in the backseat of Seunggil’s car, and the equally-distorted sounds coming out of Isabella’s mouth are protests, probably. 

“They have the unfortunate luck of being my neighbors so we’ve been stuck together since we were five,” Seunggil tells Phichit seriously. “Also they don’t have their licenses yet and are taking advantage of carpooling with me. They don’t even give me gas money.” 

Phichit snorts. “Okay, so areas of improvement: persuasive speaking and self-confidence.” He smiles wide again, wattage turned up so high that Seunggil figures he’ll now need an extra layer of aloe cream than is already necessary. “I have my work cut out for me.” 

Seunggil shakes his head and opens the car door to slide into the driver’s seat. “Don’t feel bad when I lose.” 

“Don’t feel bad when you win,” Phichit corrects. “Because then you will have insulted the Dalai Lama.” He carefully closes Seunggil’s door for him and waves through the window, eyes twinkling and smile not breaking once. 

Seunggil’s going to go blind. 

“And the Pope,” he mutters under his breath, even though Phichit can’t hear him anymore. He twists the key in the ignition and happily breathes in the cool air that immediately rushes to his face. 

Isabella moans on his right, stretching languidly in the passenger seat. She reclines her seat despite JJ’s yelp from the back, short black hair fanning over her face. “I won’t deny it,” she says, her lips moving through a slivery crack between two strands of hair. “I befriended you that day I moved in because I knew twelve years later you’d have a license and a car with functional air con.” 

“As if I didn’t know all along,” Seunggil deadpans, and puts the car in reverse. 

 

✎

 

Four hours later, after a fresh earful about how Seokjin is doing from his mom and an equally-fresh layer of aloe cream cooling on his skin, Seunggil pulls out his phone as he settles into bed. There’s a new message notification. 

**_Yuuri Katsuki_ ** _  
Yeah, he shouldn’t mind. Here’s his number._

Seunggil contemplates for a moment after copying the number to a new conversation thread. He’s talked to Phichit plenty of times, of course, but _everyone_ at KIS has talked to Phichit at one point, faculty and student and otherwise. It’s just that, usually, he interacts with Phichit in a group. Usually, it’s because Yuuri’s around; Phichit is his best friend and Seunggil is Yuuri’s doubles partner in tennis. Their interactions have largely been limited to pre-match warm ups when Phichit comes to support them, and their shared after-practice treks to the parking lot.

Eventually, he settles with: _Hey it’s Seunggil. From school._

The response is immediate. 

**_Phichit Chulanont_ ** _  
first order of business: we work on that catchphrase._

And then another message slides in.

**_Phichit Chulanont_ ** _  
mr president ;D_

Seunggil bites his lip. 

**_< <<_ **  
_You don’t have to help me, you know._  
_I don’t want you to feel like you were pressured into it. Izzy can be such a mom._

The typing icon hovers for a few moments, the little animated dots making Seunggil’s teeth dig deeper with every loop.

_**Phichit Chulanont** _  
_of course i’ll help. u can count on me. and i’m not pressured!!_  
_you’ll owe me something anyway, won’t you? :3 you’ll be reasonably indebted_

Seunggil’s exhale washes over his screen as he types back. 

**_< <<_ ** _  
I’ve got no more room in my car. JJ’s ego alone takes up two-thirds of that backseat space._

**_Phichit Chulanont_ ** _  
LOL!!! good one. booking you an appearance on jimmy fallon rn :D_

Seunggil reads ‘:D’ and sees Phichit’s smile in his head so clearly. 

**_< <<_ ** _  
Okay, Mr. Campaign Manager_

**_Mr. Campaign Manager_ ** _  
ok mr president!!_

 

✎

 

“Hello. I’m Seunggil Lee. I’m running for your student body president.” 

“Okay, cut,” Phichit interrupts. He steps forward and slams the side of one hand against the palm of the other, as if he were actually clapping a slateboard. The tech crew groans again. That is, Leo groans from where he’s holding up the boom mic and Guang-Hong calmly presses ‘STOP RECORDING’ on the video camera and gestures for Phichit to proceed. 

“What was wrong with that one?” Michele asks. “I told him, ‘Please introduce yourself.’ And then he did. Ooh, I can word it differently, like _‘Hey man, what’s—‘_ ” 

“Mickey, it’s not you.” Phichit readjusts his snapback with one hand and uses the other to point at Seunggil. “Didn’t I say to be friendly?” 

“I’m introducing myself,” Seunggil says exasperatedly, mouth settling into a scowl. 

In the past half hour, he has already said, “Hello, my name is Seunggil Lee.”

And, “Hi I am Seunggil Lee and I am interested in the position of student body president.”

And, “I’m running for student body president and my name—“

Phichit hadn’t even let him finish that last sentence.

“See? See.” Phichit walks up to where Seunggil is seated in a stool in front of the green screen and pokes his cheek. The green screen’s not even really a screen, but a bright green blanket that’s been pinned to the wall with wholesale thumbtacks. “Bingo, babe.” 

For some reason Phichit has started talking like a Hollywood director ever since he took it upon himself to be Seunggil’s unofficial campaign manager. (Seunggil refuses to order him a customized stainless steel name tag, and Phichit refuses to settle for the sticky kind that comes in sheets at the office supply store, and apparently no role is ever _official_ without The Official Name Tag.) He says things like, “Bingo, babe,” and “We’re all set, pal,” and this morning when he crept up on Seunggil and shot a surprise selca of both of them for his ‘first photo as a Presidential Candidate’ he had said, “Looking good, darling.” 

The star treatment has been turned up so high that JJ’s considering running against Seunggil now. Seunggil’s just trying to figure out how to limit the pet names to ‘pal.’ 

It’s the calm before the proverbial storm. The campaign period hasn’t started yet, but in the week since he decided to run, Phichit submitted his petition to enter the race and gotten the necessary twenty-five signatures to validate it. Seunggil hadn’t physically done anything except sign his name on the bottom line, and it’s fully hitting him now, that he’s doing this. That he’s running for student body president—against Emil Nekola, of all people, whose own intro video had taken all of three minutes to film and had gone off without a hitch. 

That despite all of that, Phichit still believes Seunggil has a chance of winning. 

At least until Seunggil can prove otherwise that Phichit isn’t completely serious about this—about him—he’s got to give the guy credit for all of the effort he’s been putting in. He’s already hitting the ground running. He had even insisted on practicing the intro video with Seunggil at lunch. 

“They’re going to ask you questions,” he had said, setting his tray across from Seunggil’s and next to Isabella’s. The soup from his curry noodle bowl sloshed over the rim and spilled onto his napkin-wrapped sticky rice bun. 

(In accordance with being an international school, the KIS cafeteria hosts menus from around the world. Usually students complain that the dishes they serve are never as good as back home, but that should be a given, really, because high school cafeteria food is high school cafeteria food, no matter the diversity mission of the school.)

But Phichit must be happy with how they cook his native food from the way he immediately dug in when he sat down. 

Seunggil was in the middle of delivering a spoonful of rice to his open mouth. “Sorry?” 

“For the intro video later, remember? After school in Professore Cialdini’s room.” All broadcasted school videos are filmed in Professore Cialdini’s room since he’s the advisor for the media club. Incidentally, half of the school’s club activities happen in Professore Cialdini’s room, but that’s primarily because the Italian maths teacher is too kind to turn down students who need a faculty advisor for their orgs. 

“No, I remember that.” Seunggil lowered the spoon into his tupperware. “What do you mean about the questions?” 

“I’m super tight with Sara.” Phichit is tight with _everyone,_ but Sara chairs the club with him. “And it turns out she’s running for student body VP and therefore not allowed to host the videos on a technicality. However, _I’m_ not allowed to host, either, since I’m your _official_ campaign manager.” He stabbed a fork through his curry noodles at the word ‘official’ and made puppy eyes from underneath his snapback.

“I’m not ordering the name tag,” Seunggil replied. He narrowed his eyes and sipped from his CamelBak and gestured for him to continue. 

Phichit nodded. “So we’re tabling this discussion for another time. Got it.” Seunggil sighed. “ _Anyway,_ so the next best person to do it is Mickey, and I got him to agree to ask you a few questions so that you could do a mini-interview type of thing.” 

JJ let out a laugh beside Seunggil. “You signed him up for more screen time?” 

“The people need to get to know their future president,” Phichit said eagerly. He shoveled noodles into his mouth with excessive zeal.

“The people already know _Seunggil,”_ JJ said. He burped before continuing, and Seunggil wrinkled his nose and turned his face away. “And he’s tennis player Yuuri Katsuki’s doubles partner and that good-looking JJ Leroy’s best friend.” Isabella kicked JJ’s leg under the table. “As well as that good-looking Isabella Yang’s best friend,” JJ added.

Isabella hummed into her sandwich. “Better,” she said.

Phichit looked between JJ and Isabella before turning to Seunggil. “These people are bad for your image.” 

As if Seunggil didn’t already know. 

“But we’re good-looking,” JJ protests. “The point is that we _improve_ your image—“

“What kind of questions?” Seunggil interrupted. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for JJ to be talking about his looks, good or otherwise. Generally, he wasn’t in the mood for JJ to be talking at all.

Phichit waved a hand. “Nothing tricky, but I’m here to help you, Mr. President.” His eyes twinkled over the napkin he was using to wipe his mouth. Crumpling the napkin in one hand, he washed down a gulp of water with the other then cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s practice.” 

JJ laughed again in between popping grapes into his mouth. Phichit ignored him and leaned forward. 

“Please introduce yourself.” 

“Seunggil Lee.” 

“Hey.” Isabella kicked Seunggil this time. “Are you reciting your name for Siri or something?” she chided.

“Hello, I’m Seunggil Lee,” he said through gritted teeth. 

Phichit squinted at him. “Okay, so we’re dipping our toes in one at a time. We’ll tread later,” he said reassuringly. “Tell us what position you’re running for.” 

“I’m running for student body president.” It was the first time Seunggil actually said it out loud. He chewed on that thought, then stuffed rice into his mouth to give him something to actually chew. 

“Great!” Phichit clapped his hands. “Now put it all together,” he practically sang out. 

Seunggil swallowed and cleared his throat. Looked up at the ceiling and readjusted the cuffs of his sleeve. “Hello, I’m Seunggil Lee and I’m running for student body president.” 

“Jeez,” JJ said after a moment of silence. “It’s like your body physically rejects being sociable and friendly.” 

“That’s redundant.” Seunggil pointed his spoon at him. “Sociable or friendly, choose one.” 

JJ flourished a hand in the air, as if to say _voilà._ “And here on our left, we have exhibit B,” he said. 

“He’s got a point, though, babe,” Isabella pointed out. 

Babe again. Seunggil bit his tongue. 

“Instead, you could say he’s not sociable nor is he attractive,” she continued. “You could say that his body physically rejects being friendly, because he’s _dull._ Dull works fine, you could say dull.” 

JJ guffawed while Phichit processed this and looked at Seunggil with interest. “Stuck with you since you were five, you said?” he asked. 

“Stuck with _them,”_ Seunggil said. Because there was a difference. He offered a half-shrug and returned his look, raising an eyebrow as if to say, _See. Do you see now?_

Phichit nodded slowly at this. He broke out into a smile again while Isabella and JJ bickered back and forth, before finishing up his meal and saying he’d catch Seunggil later. _Don’t be late, Mr. President._

Because Phichit always smiles, even right now when he’s looking down at Seunggil and there’s a small wrinkle in the middle of his forehead like he should be frowning instead. Seunggil sighs. 

“What’s so bad about my intro?” he asks, settling both hands on his knees and squeezing at the joints. “The point of an introduction is to present yourself and give your name.” 

Phichit hums and tilts his head to the side. “You don’t want them to just learn your name. You gotta, you know. Make them want to _remember_ it.” 

Guang-Hong makes a noise of agreement in the background as he tinkers with the tripod. Seunggil mouth settles into a thin line. 

( _“The people already know Seunggil,”_ JJ’s voice says in his head. _“And he’s tennis player Yuuri Katsuki’s doubles partner.”_ ) 

(Maybe that’s how Phichit had always seen Seunggil, too.) 

This is all confusing, Seunggil realizes perhaps a bit belatedly. Why go through so much effort to help Seunggil, anyway, why _him,_ this is literally all Seokjin-hyung’s fault—

“Let’s see a smile,” Sara suggests then. She’s been sitting off to the side, providing moral support both for her brother and for the media club despite the fact that she has to sit out this particular club activity. Seunggil also has the niggling feeling, though, that she’s here to watch him.

“Good idea!” Phichit exclaims. “The physical act of smiling results in positive feelings.” He smiles his usual ultraviolet radiation-generating smile, as if to demonstrate. 

Whatever Seunggil attempts to do with his face has Mickey snickering behind one hand and Sara going, “Oh.” 

The corners of Seunggil’s mouth drop immediately. He’s tired and he doesn’t know how long it’s been. He hopes that the time Isabella and JJ are spending while waiting for him has been productive. “This isn’t working. Just let me say my name and answer the questions and go.” 

“No, that wasn’t bad!” Phichit does not say that it was good, is what Seunggil focuses on. “You know what. Take a breather outside for a moment. Get some fresh air.” 

Seunggil sighs and stands up, stool creaking beneath him as his weight lifts off of it. Phichit grabs his arm before he leaves the room. 

“It’ll be fine. Hey. I said you can count on me, right?” 

Seunggil glances down at the hand on his arm, and Phichit squeezes minutely before quickly dropping away. 

“Right.” 

 

✎

 

Phichit ends up rescheduling his intro video to the end of the week, and Seunggil ends up driving home with a giggly JJ and Isabella. Isabella’s lip gloss is smeared over both of their mouths, and Seunggil wonders how long this game of silence is going to go on.

Phichit declares that in the meantime he’ll help Seunggil be relieved of any campaign jitters and relax. Seunggil explains to him that thanks, but no thanks; he does not have any campaign jitters. Seunggil just isn’t friendly, JJ was right, and not even Phichit can be capable of swallowing Seunggil up into his solar orbit and then regurgitating him back out into space as an asteroid of happiness. Or however it is space works. 

Phichit is unconvinced. 

Doing volunteer work at the library gives Seunggil a moment of peace. 

Today he’s posted at the help center; it’s a bit busier than usual because the local university students are bogged down with midterms, but Seunggil finds the book search requests relaxing. It’s monotonous and mechanical; a simple, “What can I get for you?” followed by a book title and a quick nod and a “Follow me.” It doesn’t require anything mentally taxing, and more importantly it does not require having to introduce himself with an accompanying smile. It’s relaxing all the way until Seunggil’s settling into his last hour of work.

“What can I get for—“ Seunggil cuts himself off when he glances up at the person across the counter. He tilts his face towards the ceiling and closes his eyes. “No. Why.” 

“Ah.” A tut of disapproval. “So you’ve not been practicing our exercises.” There’s the sound of a grunt, and Seunggil opens his eyes to Phichit hauling himself onto the counter and swinging his legs over to join Seunggil on this side. “I must say I am disappointed, Mr. President. I thought I was fronting a man who followed through on his promises.” 

“I promised you nothing,” Seunggil grumbles, returning to the desktop computer in front of him and clicking through the library’s database of books. As if he didn’t have every cover of every book in this place memorized, their authors and locations carefully catalogued in his head after three years of volunteering. 

“But you did,” Phichit says cheerfully. He leans his arms on the counter and rests his head on top of them, head turned sideways towards Seunggil. He looks freshly-showered in a t-shirt and sweatpants, snapback missing and damp hair artfully mussed, like he ran his fingers through his hair until he was satisfied. His face is unusually bare, and his eyes look softer without eyeliner. The setting sun shines warmly from the window behind him, placing a golden halo behind his head. Seunggil wonders when his life started getting so metaphorical. 

(Seunggil wonders how he can somehow work this into his next IB literature essay.) 

“As long as I’m helping you, you said you’d trust me, remember?” Phichit says easily. “That includes listening to me and taking me seriously.” 

_I said you can count on me, right?_

Seunggil huffs. “I thought you meant trust you to help me not embarrass myself,” he mutters to the computer screen. _Click click._

A foot nudges his calf. 

“No.” 

_Click click._ Nudge nudge.

“Phichit,” Seunggil sighs out. 

Phichit gasps softly, and from the corner of his eye Seunggil sees him lean an elbow on the counter and tilt his chin into the palm of his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met. I didn’t quite catch your name.” 

“You should join JJ for the next school play,” Seunggil tells him, keeping his eyes trained on the screen. 

“Do you come here often?” Phichit goes on. “I don’t go here much myself. I mostly pirate everything online, but that’s not a thing I should tell strangers. You’re not an undercover cop, are you? What did you say your name was again?” 

“I don’t think cops arrest you for—“

A throat clears, and Seunggil looks up to see a girl on the other side of the counter, hand half-raised in the air. She’s wearing a university sweater and an amused expression on her face. “Um, sorry. Could I get some help?” 

Phichit pinches Seunggil’s side hard. A warning.

He squares his jaw before flashing the cheesiest grin he can muster. The girl’s eyebrows only jump a little, and Seunggil thinks he can work with that. “Sure. What can I do for you?” 

“I need help finding a DVD.” She draws a circle in the air with her two index fingers, like she’s outlining a disc. _“Back to the Future?”_

Seunggil nods, smile frozen on his face. “Follow me.” 

Phichit sighs as Seunggil leads them toward the multimedia wing. “Baby steps,” he seems to be muttering to himself. He turns to the girl. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Ketty.” The girl shoulders her tote bag and looks curiously between Phichit and Seunggil. 

“Katie?”

“ _Ket_ -ty,” she repeats this readily, like she’s used to it. “Short ‘e.’” 

“Gotcha.” A hand lightly claps Seunggil’s back, hooks over the top of his shoulder. “His name is Seunggil.” 

“Phichit,” Seunggil huffs under his breath. “Keep your voice down.” 

“And my name is Phichit,” Phichit says, lowering his voice only slightly. He squeezes Seunggil’s shoulder. “He volunteers here. He volunteers at the animal shelter, too.” 

“That’s nice,” Ketty comments. Seunggil’s not sure if she’s being sincere or not. There are dark circles under her eyes and her fingers have been drumming constantly against the strap of her bag. Probably not. “You must like helping people.” 

“He’s running for student body president,” Phichit tells her as they round a corner and arrive at a row of shelves. Seunggil passes by the labels without reading them. 

_Western…Western (American)…Thriller…Teenage Drama…_

He stops them in front of _Science Fiction_ and crouches down to browse the shelf. 

“Wow.” Ketty actually sounds impressed. 

“He’s going to win,” Phichit says brightly. 

“I’m sure.” 

“Phichit,” Seunggil says again, flushing. He pulls out _Back to the Future_ and straightens up to hand it to Ketty. “Here you g—what?” He makes a face when Phichit makes wild gestures at him from behind her. “I don’t understand.” 

Phichit looks like he’s suppressing the urge to groan. He does not succeed. Groans. Grits his teeth and smiles pleasantly at Ketty. “Seunggil can help you check out if that’s all you needed.” 

“Uh, sure. Okay.” 

“Great!” Phichit tugs Seunggil’s arm and pushes him forward to get him walking again. 

“What are you doing,” Seunggil says flatly. 

“This is called being _friendly,”_ Phichit explains. He bumps Seunggil with his hip as they approach the counter. “This is what you do when you meet someone new and are trying to get to know them.” 

“She thinks I’m a total loser, becase you’re here trying to teach me how to be _friendly.”_

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” Ketty pipes up from behind them. 

“Oh my god.” Seunggil resists running a hand over his face from embarrassment. 

“See? She doesn’t think you’re a loser.” Phichit pushes himself up onto the counter and lets his legs knock against Seunggil’s thigh as he starts to ring up the DVD. “Go on. Make small talk.” 

“You can’t _plan_ to make small talk—oh my god.”

Ketty nods encouragingly and waits patiently from the other side of the counter. 

Seunggil steels a breath and squares his jaw. “So uh, why are you checking out _Back to the Future?”_

“Good start.” Phichit nods in approval. 

“Film studies class,” Ketty replies. “American classics. You know.” 

Seunggil nods and clears his throat. “And who _hasn’t_ wanted to go to prom with their own mother and wingman for their dad the whole night, right?” 

He’s met with blank stares. 

“…Nevermind. Uh. Here. You’re all set.” 

Ketty gives a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Seunggil.” She nods at Phichit. “Phichit.” 

“Bye, Ketty!” Phichit calls after her. When she leaves, he fixes Seunggil with a look, one eyebrow raised and mouth twitching at the corners. “What was that?” 

“I was trying to banter, _god.”_ Seunggil closes his eyes and groans. “God. I’m so bad at this.” 

“You’ve already got the Pope and the Dalai Lama on the line,” Phichit says. He jumps off the counter and smiles widely at him. “Don’t bring God into this, too.” 

Seunggil chuckles weakly.

“You’re a weirdo, but you’re not bad. You just need to relax.” Phichit raises a hand like he’s going to touch Seunggil’s face. Doesn’t. Sets it on Seunggil’s shoulder instead, like he had earlier. “Don’t be so stressed and just trust me.”

_I said you can count on me, right?_

Seunggil looks back at him, not breathing. 

“Also, share your calendar with me. I know you keep it on Google.” Phichit lets go and steps back. 

Seunggil blinks. “What?” 

“To help me plan. You know.” Phichit waves his hand. Seunggil doesn’t know. He watches Phichit haul himself back up the counter again to swing over to the other side. When he jumps off, he looks up at Seunggil and smiles. “Your calendar,” he prompts. 

“Um. Yeah,” Seunggil says. 

Phichit smile widens, impossibly, and Seunggil faintly recalls the lesson on how a planetery object suddenly finds itself lost in the orbit of a star. 

“I want you to make one more friend before you leave,” Phichit tells him, all straight teeth and crescent eyes and still-damp hair falling over his forehead. “I’m trusting you, this time. So promise me you will.” 

Gravitational pull.

“Promise.” 

 

✎

 

**_Mr. Campaign Manager_**  
_so what was their name ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

**_< <<_ ** _  
Why are you acting like you didn’t just hide behind the encyclopedias after you “left”_

**_Mr. Campaign Manager_**  
_hahahaha lol  
i rlly liked the “your name’s reid, as in books?” *gestures wildly around the library*_

**_< <<_**  
_I hate myself so much_

**_Mr. Campaign Manager_**  
_u did really well mr pres :D_  
_thank you for keeping your promise_  
_i promise to work extra hard!!!! u better start repenting to both of His Holinesses now._  
_also, blocked off time on ur saturday schedule to work on posters_

**_< <<_**  
_Okay_

 

✎

 

_“Hey, Seunggil.”_

“Hello.” 

_“Seunggil, good morning!”_

“Good morning.” 

_“Bro. That’s what’s up.”_

“Uh…you too.” 

_“We heard you’re going to give us a prom!”_

“I’m what?” 

Seunggil, for the most part, knows what to expect when the official period to openly campaign begins. Kamome International has no shortage of school pride, and it is reflected in how hard candidates campaign during election season. Seunggil has seen this for himself for five years now; KIS opens their doors from sixth grade onwards, although the middle schoolers are usually housed in a different part of campus. Still, the main wing of the school is bustling with high schoolers and middle schoolers alike, and the younger students wear mild trepidation on their faces, staring at the bright posters and loud cheers arising from certain high school students as they make their way to their own wing. 

“Nikiforov for Student Body Treasurer!” 

“Sara C. for VP!” 

“I’ll vote for whoever signs this petition to help me start a bboy club!” Kenjirou is saying at the top of his lungs. He’s decked out in school colors and the head of their mascot, the koi fish, sits on his head in the form of a beanie hat. He catches Seunggil’s eye and waves wildly. “Seunggil! Hello!” 

“Yuuri’s not with me, Kenny,” he tells the freshman. He is no stranger to the boy’s infatuation with his tennis partner.

(Although, to be fair, a good amount of the student body is infatuated with Yuuri.) 

“No, no, not that.” Kenjirou is shoving his pen and clipboard into Seunggil’s arms. Seunggil signs his petition. “I heard you’re gonna do a prom!” 

He is the fourth person to tell him this today, and Seunggil’s only just stepped foot onto campus. Homeroom’s not even for another eight minutes. Seunggil’s brow furrows, perplexed. 

“I just think that’s so cool! And I hope you win! Your posters look really nice, by the way! And I can’t wait for your shirts to come in— _oh!_ Victor! Will you sign my petition? Also, was that Yuuri with you just now, or do you know where he might…” 

Seunggil stands back dumbfoundedly as the boy sprints down the hall. 

 

✎

 

“What the hell is going on?” JJ says during lunch. “That’s, like, the hundredth person to stop by our table. For Seunggil. _Seunggil.”_

Although it’s true that the eighty percent of people that usually ever stop by their table aren’t for Seunggil—either a drama club member going over lines and stage blocking with JJ or someone trying to make a good impression on Isabella for the decathlon team—there’s still a good amount of students that approach Seunggil about math tutoring or conditioning regimen tips for the tennis team. 

Today, however, everyone has wanted to talk about Seunggil’s cool campaign posters (all meme-worthy, courtesy of Phichit) and making references to all of his extracurriculars, which Seunggil didn’t know when those became such public knowledge. He knows he talked about them in the intro video he had re-filmed, albeit briefly, but Seunggil’s not going to pretend to know how or why people latch onto topics and trend them. That’s his _Mr. Campaign Manager’s_ job. 

“Hyperbole,” Seunggil says in between chewing his jajangmyeon. He eyes his phone, waiting for any notifications to come through. _Mr. Campaign Manager_ has been radio silent since yesterday. 

“You’re a hyperbole.” 

“That doesn’t—“ 

_“Mr. President,_ how’s it going?” Phichit’s grin is cheeky as he ducks his head into their table. This time he seats himself next to Seunggil, because JJ and Isabella sit side-by-side now, and Seunggil suspects it’s related to the hands they’ve got joined beneath the table and the ankles they have curled around each other. 

“I’ve been texting you,” Seunggil says. “Also, don’t be so loud when you call me that.” He frowns. “I don’t want to seem presumptuous.” 

“Okay, sugar.” Hollywood Director Phichit is back today, apparently. “Is this about the t-shirts?” He hasn’t brought a lunch with him this time, either, so he rests his chin in one hand and grabs a french fry off of Seunggil’s tray with another. 

“Well, that too.” Seunggil’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s this about a prom?” 

“Oh!” Phichit’s face brightens as he claps giddily. “Well, I was thinking I wanted to cash in.”

“What?” 

“You owe me since I’m helping you, remember?” 

Seunggil nods slowly. “Yeah?” 

“I want a prom,” Phichit states solemnly. He looks like he’s biting back a smile, pleased with himself. “Like in the American movies.” 

“I love that!” Isabella exclaims. 

“Prom,” JJ murmurs. He’s got a faraway look in his eyes and his head absently drifts in Isabella’s direction. 

Seunggil considers this. “Is this because of what I said about _Back to the Future_?” 

Phichit laughs. “Maybe a little. But I’ve always been kinda bummed that KIS doesn’t do proms.” The school already does a homecoming, and the school board exercises a certain degree of caution when it comes to incorporating more Western-style school activities. There’s a balance they’re trying to maintain. All in the name of diversity. “So I’m going to help you win, and then you’re going to make it happen, m’kay?” 

Seunggil relents, because it’s a reasonable deal, even as JJ gets a little more moony-eyed at this revelation. Even as a similar expression starts to appear on Phichit’s face, and he wonders what kind of person Phichit has in mind that he’d like to go to an American-style prom with. “Yeah. Okay.” 

_“Prom_ -ise.” 

“God.” Seunggil rolls his eyes. 

Phichit grins and pops another french fry into his mouth. “What did we say about bringing God into this?” 

 

✎

 

When Seunggil discovers that Phichit has been taking pictures of him and posting them online, he realizes that he should have known.

“My what?” he asks. JJ’s got his phone held up to his face, head resting in Isabella’s lap while she reads _Les Misérables._ They’re on her bed, and while usually all three of them would be piled up on her comforter when they hang out to watch TV or do homework, Seunggil has deemed it safer to be observing them from the bean bag in the corner of her room. Due to recent developments, and all. 

“Your campaign instagram. It’s blowing up,” JJ says, not looking away from his phone. His finger hovers above his face, poised against the screen as he scrolls and taps. “You know, the one that Phichit set up.” 

“I don’t know,” Seunggil says flatly. 

JJ tsks. “And there’s such a dashing feature of me as well—“

That is all Seunggil needs to know that this couldn’t possibly be making him look good. He slips his phone out of his pocket and pulls up the app. “What’s the username?” 

“Kiss Seunggil.”

“...What?”

“The handle is K-I-S-dash-Seunggil,” JJ spells it out. 

“Cute,” Isabella comments, not looking up from her book. 

Seunggil’s face darkens. “Why.”

The instagram page is...well it doesn’t look like it’s run by him, first of all. It would be obvious to anyone who knows Seuggil that he’s not behind the bubbly description, or the excessive use of exclamation points, or the, jeez. Six hundred followers. Seunggil would have to check for himself, but if they aren’t bots like he suspects, then that would mean almost three-quarters of the entire student body is keeping up-to-date on his campaign. 

But the point is that nobody knows him, Seunggil supposes. 

He switches the display option to list view and scrolls. All the comments people have been making to him at school are starting to make more sense now. 

 

**[IMAGE]** Seunggil at the local park, hunched over a posterboard. The fringe of hair has been pushed back with a sweatband. His mouth is fixed in a concentrated frown, just a little bit of tongue peeking out in the corner, and there’s a spot of blue paint on his forehead.

**kis-seunggil** Get ready to see these dope posters on MON!!! T-shirts arriving soon, let my team know if ya want one #OFFICIAL 

 

> _liked by phichit+chu, sara-crispino, and 356 others_
> 
> **katsukiyuuri** :D save me a shirt
> 
> **minamiken** ME TOO!!! 

*

**[VIDEO]** Seunggil’s intro video, but filmed from a phone behind the fill light and the video camera. _“Hi, everyone. I’m Seunggil Lee. I’d like to be your student body president.”_ The video frame freezes, right before Michele is about to dig into the interview questions, and slowly zooms in on Seunggil’s face. A pair of pixelated sunglasses slides down onto his eyes as the video turns black and white. _‘SEUNGGIL 4 KIS PREZ’_ in Impact font rolls up from the bottom of the frame.

**kis-seunggil** As president, I would work to build school community!!! More events!!! Starting with a #PROM 

 

> _liked by v-nikiforov, phichit+chu, and 578 others_
> 
> **christophe-ge** @v-nikiforov @katsukiyuuri 
> 
> **v-nikiforov** AMAZING
> 
> **katsukiyuuri** fun, seunggil!!! 
> 
> **yuri-plisetsky** put on a rave, u coward. @otabek-altin can DJ 

*

**[IMAGE]** Seunggil at the library, wearing his library assistant uniform vest over a tshirt and jeans. He’s stretching up to reach for a book while a trio of KIS middle-schoolers wait patiently beside him.

**kis-seunggil** I’m here for you too, KAMOME JRS!!! #communityservice #TRUELEADER

 

> _liked by sukeota3sisters, minamiken, and 289 others_
> 
> **sukeota3sisters** heyyy that’s us!!! 
> 
> **minamiken** im crying im in high school now and seunggil still does that for me *prayer emoji* 

*

**[IMAGE]** JJ and Isabella posing, giving grins and a thumbs up to the camera. They’re clearly in the auditorium, with the drama club onstage in the background, and Isabella’s still in her decathlon team lab coat.

**kis-seunggil** I love my fans! ;DD

 

> _liked by phichit+chu, bellayang and 421 others_
> 
> **bellayang** LMAO 
> 
> **JJleroy!15** wow i can’t believe this photo single-handedly won seunggil the election

*

**[IMAGE]** Seunggil on the tennis court with Yuuri. Both are slighlty crouched down, hands gripping their rackets and eyes trained on their opponents off-camera.

**kis-seunggil** Always winning for you, KIS!!! #GOGOKIS #KAMOMEWERETHEBEST #KAMOMEKOIIIIIII #GOINGKOIKOIBOP

 

> _liked by v-nikiforov, JJleroy!15, and 640 others_
> 
> **v-nikiforov** heart eyes! 
> 
> **christophe-ge** *tongue emoji* *sweat drops emoji*
> 
> **JJleroy!15** MY BOY 
> 
> **bella-yang** my son!
> 
> **minamiken** lol i got cut off but im there in the back!!! omg #GOINGKOIKOIBOP hahah @exo
> 
> **real_pcy** 굉장해! 행운을 빕니다!
> 
> **katsukiyuuri** omg i look so serious rip

*

**[IMAGE]** Selca of Seunggil with a surprised expression on his face, eyes wide and lips parted. Phichit has an arm hanging around his shoulders, wearing a smile so cheesed-up that his eyes have nearly disappeared into his cheeks.

**kis-seunggil** I MEAN #BUSINESS!!! Got myself a CAMPAIGN MANAGER —Mr. President Seunggil Lee #VOTE #SEUNGGIL4KISPREZ

 

> _liked by bellayang, sara-crispino, and 530 others_
> 
> **JJleroy!15** MY BOYYYYYY 
> 
> **bella-yang** mY SON 
> 
> **yuri-plisetsky** lol what who are you
> 
> **katsukiyuuri** WOOHOO :) 
> 
> **sara-crispino** you guys are so cute!! 
> 
> **phichit+chu** @sara-crispino :D :D :D 

 

There are plenty of photos of Seunggil, in varying degrees of candidness. Seunggil at the library and at school mostly, but there are a few shots of Seunggil working at the animal shelter from over the summer, and there’s even one baby photo of him. Seunggil doesn’t know how Phichit got his hands on that. 

A ping goes off as a notification banner enters the screen. A new post has been made, this time of a shot of open cardboard boxes. The caption reads _’SHIRTS ARE HERE! #letsgo’_

Seunggil squints at the photo. The background looks familiar, like his kitchen table back home. He freezes. 

**< <<**  
_Are you at my house?_

**_Mr. Campaign Manager_**  
_HEY yeah! and i saw you follow the ig :DD_

**_< <<_**  
_Why...are you at my house?_

**_Mr. Campaign Manager_**  
_your mom told me the shirts came in!!!_

**_< <<_ ** _  
What??_

**_Mr. Campaign Manager_**  
_shes the one who suggested we have shirts and covered the expenses!!_  
_did she not tell u??_  
_she saw me printing flyers at the convenience store last week and asked if i was that guy jj told her has been hanging around u lol_  
_she didnt know u were running for school prez!!_  
_she is v impressed at ur follower count, she says ur hyung doesn’t even have that many_  
_who’s hyung?_

**_< <<_ ** _  
Oh._

**_Mr. Campaign Manager_**  
_??_  
_sorry… are u uncomfortable?_  
_i thought your mom told you ;-; she gave me that baby pic too_  
_(so cute!!!)_  
_im sorry was that all ok??? im sorry_

**_< <<_** _  
Are you still there?_

**_Mr. Campaign Manager_ ** _  
yeah! ur mom is feeding me lol_

 

✎

 

Seunggil gathers his things in a flash, bows a quick goodbye to Isabella’s parents in the living room and sprints across the street to his own house. 

When Seunggil arrives at home, it’s to the smell of kimchi fried rice, a pair of scuffed sneakers on his doormat, and Phichit laughing with his mom at the kitchen table. He’s still in his cheer uniform, a tight black shirt over fitted training pants. His big toe pokes through a hole in his socks. 

“Seunggil-ah!” his mom says. She flags a dish towel at him. “Where have you been? Your t-shirts are here, how could you make your friend do everything by himself?” she chides.

Seunggil makes a face and tightens his grip on his backpack. “Umma, you didn’t even tell me about the shirts.” 

“Seokjinnie never asks favors from anyone,”his mom goes on. “But even when people help him he insists on pulling his own weight.” Seunggil flushes as Phichit laughs good-naturedly and waves a hand. 

“It’s all good. Seunggil’s here now and I haven’t even touched the boxes yet.” He smiles at Seunggil. “I’m almost done eating, and then we can load them into your car?” 

“Yeah, let me. I’ll just drop off my stuff,” Seunggil stammers under his mom’s heavy gaze, disapproving and appraising and curious, all at once. 

“‘Kay!” Phichit turns back to Seunggil’s mom and scrapes together another spoonful of food. “This is so good, Auntie.”

Seunggil’s breath hitches as he watches his mom pat Phichit’s cheek and coo at him, and he hurries up the stairs and into his room to dump his backpack. 

Later, when Seunggil’s carrying the last box of t-shirts to his car, Phichit looks at him with concern. 

“You’ve been really quiet,” he says suddenly. He’d been humming while they’d worked, chewing on a hard candy that Seunggil’s mom had given to him for dessert. Now he shifts awkwardly in Seunggil’s driveway, foot toeing at a crack in the asphalt. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah.” Seunggil grunts with exertion and shoves the box into the car trunk. 

“Is it...are you okay with me talking to your mom?” Phichit bites his lip, actually frowning, and Seunggil blinks. Without thinking, he reaches up and pokes Phichit’s cheek, like Phichit has done to him so many times. “Sorry, I should have checked with you and asked—“ 

“Hey. Of course it’s okay.” His fingers move again, brushing over soft skin, trailing up to Phichit’s forehead to smooth over the wrinkle that’s there. Phichit’s watching him with wide eyes, and when Seunggil’s brain catches up with him, threatening termination, he blinks and drops his hand. “I mean, you...” He clears his throat. “You said to trust you. So.” 

“So,” Phichit repeats. A smile slowly grows on his face. 

“So I’m keeping my promise because you’re keeping yours,” he says steadily. 

“Have you seen the shirt yet?” Phichit says suddenly. He reaches out to unfold the flaps of one of the boxes. “I got Chris to design it, but he says to swear not to tell anyone since he’s on the election committee and technically has to stay impartial.” He snorts. “As if he doesn’t have _‘Vote Victor for Treasurer’_ tattooed on his ass.” 

“Be serious,” Seunggil says. “Chris has high standards about what gets to touch his ass.” 

“You would think, right?” Phichit laughs and holds up a shirt. It’s short-sleeved, styled with a v-neck and a cartoon koi fish is splashed across the front. _‘Lee For KIS President’_ is written in loopy script, like waves of water. It’s pretty and simple, simpler than Seunggil expected, coming from Phichit. “Try it on,” Phichit suggests. 

“Um. Okay.” 

Seunggil takes his shirt off carefully, conscious of Phichit’s gaze on him. It’s not really the first time he’s been shirtless in front of him, because Phichit has gone to plenty of their tennis matches. But it’s different here, alone on his driveway with the sun about to set and the sound of plates clattering as his mom washes the dishes inside his house. Once he pokes his head through the campaign shirt, the rest of the material slides down his torso and hugs him comfortably. 

“S’nice,” he says awkwardly. He doesn’t know what to say about the fact that he’s wearing a shirt with his own name on it. Not even JJ has done that. “Soft.” 

“You look good,” Phichit tells him. He looks pleased. 

Seunggil licks his lips, and suddenly finds the courage to ask the question that's been on his mind since the first time Phichit visited him at the library. “Why are you helping me?” 

Phichit tilts his head to the side. “Because I want to prove I’m better than the Pope?” 

“Seriously.” 

Phichit smile fades slowly, and he turns quiet and contemplative. He brushes at a piece of lint on Seunggil’s shoulder. “I’ve pretty much thought you were perfect since the day I met you,” he admits. 

“…What?” 

“I mean, I know you’re not. Like, far from it.” Phichit laughs at the expression that crosses Seunggil’s face. “But, you work really hard? You’re good at everything at you do and I thought it was because you were just naturally like that, but I’d see you studying at the learning center and during lunch you’d be helping people with their lit projects, because you’re the only one who ever aced that in Madame Baranovskaya’s class. And Yuuri told me you backed him up after offering to co-captain the tennis team, and that you were the one who was taking care of Vicchan at the shelter before he decided to adopt him. And then the next day I saw you at school and you were trying not to laugh at something JJ said and all I could think about was imagining how your smile must look like.”

Seunggil blinks. 

“And I know it’s this big joke that you’re super boring and serious just because you’re quiet and keep to yourself and have people like JJ and Isabella to crowd you in. But I also know that people didn’t really think that, and they still know you and acknowledge all the effort you put in.” 

Seunggil doesn’t know when he got so close, but suddenly Phichit’s breath is washing over him, warm and smelling like artificial strawberry flavor from the candy he’d been sucking on. His lips are stained red. 

“But I didn’t know that you didn’t know,” Phichit murmurs. 

Phichit’s mouth is soft when they brush against his, tentative. Seunggil’s not sure who moved first, but it doesn’t matter now, because he’s pressing in and crowding Phichit against the side of his car, arm curling around his waist. Phichit’s got a hand in his hair, and next their mouths are slipping open to let each other in and they hold each other closer. 

When they break apart, Phichit runs a thumb over Seunggil’s bottom lip.

“I’m not even religious,” Seunggil says, panting a bit. 

Phichit huffs out a laugh. “What?” 

“Like, if I win and I have to repent to His Holinesses. I wouldn’t even know where to start.” 

Phichit’s thumb pauses, then reaches up to pinch Seunggil’s cheek. _“When_ you win.”

“Ow.” 

“Because you are. Trust me.” 

Phichit smiles, sunrise clashing against the sunset behind them, and Seunggil finds himself smiling back. 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

✎

 

_One year later_

Victor and Yuuri win Prom Kings, to completely no one’s surprise. 

Seunggil presents them with their crowns on stage and congratulates them. Yuuri thanks him kindly and Victor doesn’t even spare Seunggil a glance. 

“Yuuri! Dance with me,” he coos, tugging his boyfriend off the stage and onto the dance floor. They only officially got together over the past winter break, but it’s not like they haven’t been pining over each other for the past three years. But Victor has always been handsy, when it comes to Yuuri. 

“Don’t forget our quick meeting in thirty,” Seunggil tells Victor politely. 

Victor waves one hand, cups Yuuri’s cheek with the other. “We definitely broke even for this, no worries.” 

And then they’re dancing. 

Seunggil thinks that of everything that’s been accomplished so far in his presidency—establishing an intuitive online tutoring resource, updating the nutritional value of the cafeteria menu without compromising taste, starting the first KIS prom—Victor and Yuuri’s relationship has probably impacted the school the most. 

No other school has upwards of ninety-percent of attendance in athletic games or celebrated the humanities so fervently like Kamome International. Dean Feltsman has been so chuffed that he’s been wearing two new hats, and the yearbook’s going to be plastered with photos of Victor baring face paint and foam fingers, and snapshots of all the portraits of Yuuri that Victor has painted and put up in galleries. 

“They’re cute,” a voice says next to Seunggil. He turns to them and smiles.

“Hello.” 

“Hello,” the person replies. He runs a hand up Seunggil’s forearm and squeezes. “I didn’t quite catch your name.” 

“Mmm. I’m Seunggil.” They make their way to the dance floor, and if Seunggil weren’t so distracted by the boy in his arms he’d tell JJ and Isabella to get off the dance floor and go make out in a dark corner like any respectable high school couple. 

But warm hands wrap around the back of Seunggil’s neck and a pair of lips skim his jaw, and Seunggil’s not so sure if he's in any superior position in terms of respectability, either.

“Nice to meet you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is even close to what you wanted aaa ♥ Thank you for reading and pls let me know what you think!
> 
> *selca = selfie ("selfie camera")  
> *I totally wanted to incorporate an Asian Student Union/Korean Students Association where all they do is gossip and order in jajangmyeon and try to learn kpop girl group dances but. Those were just silly ideas so take that fun world-building thing and do what you want with it  
> *Victor and Yuuri were supposed to play a bigger role in this but idk what happened, jjbella are merciless and hitch any ride that they can get


End file.
